(un)Occupied

My head was full of junk until last night.

I mean that literally, I had a terrible cold that started Wednesday and took its time subsiding.  Maybe there is a connection between head congestion and mind congestion.  Because my mind was certainly congested when last night's yoga practice began.

I thought Monday's "Vinyasa Challenge" would be perfect for my uneasy mental state.  After all, that class generally begins moving and doesn't stop until savasana.  Last night, however, Andrea took a different approach.

A fair warning: I'm going to start sounding like a broken record here.  Andrea's opening remarks had to do with - surprise surprise - stillness and sitting with things.  It's almost like she knew I'd been talking a lot about it but doing very little to live it.  She told us that we'd be flowing through poses slowly, allowing things to sink in instead of moving right along to the next one (sound familiar?).  Great, I thought.  This is not going to work for me.

And at first it didn't.  I tried very hard to stay present through an opening flow, but my mind was everywhere else.  I was just about to give up when BOOM.  First chaturanga, a mandatory moment of strength.  And the focus was there.  And it was liberating.  (Really, it was probably the first time I've ever hoped I could stay in a chaturanga forever.)

I spent the remainder of the practice fully in my body, total self-awareness.  Rooting down, I felt so expansive that I was sure I could touch every wall in the room if I really wanted to.  After a series of balancing poses (definitely kicked my ass... like I said my head was congested too), I felt like I'd finally retained all the focus that last week's "yoga hiatus" had forced me to lose.  And things were clear again.

Then, as we settled into savasana, Andrea read a poem.  Going into the subject matter gets a bit more personal than I'd like to here, but it was the single most perfect end to one of the most mentally-challenging practices ever.  The themes from her earlier remarks were all tied in: sitting with empty spaces, allowing room to breathe, etc.  The metaphor, though, is what got me.  It's almost as if the universe is throwing these things in my face on purpose.  I think it is... at least, I want to believe it is.

I spent the remainder of the evening at a wonderful GA for Occupy UNCG, had a drink with some friends, and came home to half-ass a first draft of a paper that's due next week.  I went to bed with absolutely none of the previous baggage that had been occupying my congested brain, and much of the post-plague congestion had left me as well. 

I truly hadn't slept that well in weeks.